


Through Smoke and Fire

by TheDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: As Arthur takes a careful step forward, sword drawn, the dragon draws its head closer to its body. Its eyes are flitting around restlessly, shifting from one Knight to another — from one sword or lance to the other. It shies away from him, tries to take a few steps back, but it hits a wall of trees and shrubs and is forced to stop.“Stand your ground,” Arthur commands, not once taking his eyes off the dragon. He moves in even closer, goading the creature into attacking him. He can hear Leon restlessly moving from one foot to another, ready to jump in at the first sign that something is about to go wrong, but he needs not worry. This isn’t the first time Arthur’s faced off against a dragon, and he has no intention of it being his last.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> Prompt: Camelot is fighting a losing battle, Merlin turns himself into a dragon and turns the tide but gets injured and is unable to turn himself back. Arthur only finds the tattered remains of Merlin's clothes and swears he'll hunt and kill the beast that took Merlin.
> 
> I'd like to thank [LFB72](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72/) for providing me with such good prompts. It was so hard to choose which one to write the fic for! I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Warnings: canon-typical violence

They find the dragon late at night, when the moon is high up in the sky and the stars are glimmering like the most expensive jewels on Arthur’s crown. The light they shed on the surroundings is scarce, but it’s enough so as to easily be able to make out the shape of the creature standing right in front of them.

If the situation were any different, Arthur would maybe be willing to call it beautiful. Its scales, at first glance, seem black, but when the moonlight hits them _just right_ , they erupt in various shades of blue — cobalt and azure and turquoise and so many others that Arthur cannot name. Its eyes, though, are its most noticeable feature — they’re the brightest and most vivid gold he’s ever seen.

The dragon is much smaller than he thought it would be. Arthur expected it to be around the size of the Great Dragon — maybe a bit smaller. This creature, though, is just about Arthur’s height while it’s standing on all four paws.

They’ve somehow managed to surround it. Arthur is in front of the beast, with Leon to his right and slightly behind him. There are three Knights on the dragon’s left, and three more on its right. Behind it, there is a forest with vegetation so dense that the creature would have a hard time making its escape through it, just as it would have a hard time spreading its wings to fly right now.

As Arthur takes a careful step forward, sword drawn, the dragon draws its head closer to its body. Its eyes are flitting around restlessly, shifting from one Knight to another — from one sword or lance to the other. It shies away from him, tries to take a few steps back, but it hits a wall of trees and shrubs and is forced to stop.

“Stand your ground,” Arthur commands, not once taking his eyes off the dragon. He moves in even closer, goading the creature into attacking him. He can hear Leon restlessly moving from one foot to another, ready to jump in at the first sign that something is about to go wrong, but he needs not worry. This isn’t the first time Arthur’s faced off against a dragon, and he has no intention of it being his last.

The dragon swings its head wildly from side to side as Arthur approaches, visibly looking for a way to escape, but Arthur is not going to allow it to find one.

“Close in,” he says. His Knights are quick to obey, and soon enough they’re all standing a scarce few metres away from the beast.

There’s a rustle from one of the bushes and the dragon, startled, turns to investigate it.

That’s a mistake. The second its attention wanders, Arthur is ordering his men to attack. He thrusts his sword forward, hoping to wound it, but the dragon’s reflexes are good and it dodges, quickly moving out of the way of the incoming swipes and jabs of weapons.

It doesn’t move to retaliate.

Cut after cut, blow after blow, and the dragon still has yet to breathe a spark of fire into the air between them or swipe a claw at them. It’s unnatural. When Arthur had gone up against the Great Dragon, it had not hesitated to use its fiery breath to incinerate everything in its path, but this one has yet to even open its mouth.

The thoughts prove to be a distraction, and before he knows it, Arthur has to duck out of the way of the dragon’s tail. He manages to throw himself to the ground at the last second — his men are not so lucky. Arthur hears the sickening cracks of skulls smashing against trees and bones being broken, and he has to fight so as not to turn to ascertain that everyone is ok, that they made it out alive.

The dragon is spreading its wings. It seems that it’s going to take its chances trying to fly away, despite the branches growing overhead. The wind picks up and leaves rustle as it flaps its wings.

And all Arthur knows is that he cannot let this beast get away, not ever.

He scrambles off the ground and quickly brings his sword forward, releasing it when he is sure that it’s on the right trajectory. There’s an agonised roar when the sword tears through the dragon’s wing left, pinning it to a nearby tree.

Arthur feels an immense amount of satisfaction.

Unfortunately, he’s now left without a weapon, and in the time that it takes him to grab one of the swords that had been knocked aside by the dragon’s attack, the creature manages to free itself from where it’s pinned, letting out another piercing shriek when the action causes its wing even more damage.

No matter. It won’t be using it for long.

Over the course of the mostly one-sided battle, Arthur had somehow managed to get turned around so that the thick forest is now on his left instead of in front of him, and the dragon has a clear route of escape behind it. Arthur lunges after it as it turns to run away. Even injured, the dragon proves to be much faster than a human being, and Arthur soon falls behind.

The moon is shining more brightly now, making it easy to see the splatters of blood all over the forest floor. It will make the dragon will be easy to track.

Should he do it? Should he go after it alone, or should he go back, see which of his Knights are still alive and able to fight?

He spends but a moment making up his mind. The force behind the sweep of the dragon’s tail was great, and left everyone besides Arthur incapacitated. He’s worried about his men, and he wants to know whether or not they are still alive, and if this were any other situation, he would turn back instantly. Alas, the situation is as it is and he cannot let this dragon get away — it is absolutely not going to happen. Not after what he went through to find it in the first place. Not after what it did to—

Arthur grits his teeth at the wave of pain the thought brings, but he cannot allow it to distract him now. He needs to concentrate on killing the dragon. He can wallow in despair later, but not right now — right now, he has more important things to focus on. He needs to track the dragon.

He needs to find it and kill it before it slaughters anyone else.

Arthur walks on through the undergrowth, letting the dark, almost black, blood guide his way. Following the trail, it doesn’t take long for him to reach a small cave in the mountainside. It’s nothing more than a hole that could only be used for shelter, but when the moonlight hits the bones lying near the side of the entrance, Arthur realises that this is where the dragon has been hiding.

The beast itself, however, is nowhere to be seen. The trail of blood had also ended a few metres ago.

There is no guarantee Arthur has headed in the right direction, but he’s willing to bet that the dragon would have returned to the place it thinks is safe — to its home. It’s what most people would do if they were alone and wounded, and although the beast isn’t human, Arthur knows enough about dragons to know that they’re just as intelligent as humans.

Driven forward by this thought, Arthur starts making his way toward the cave, listening for the slightest crunch of rocks or rustle of leaves that could tell him where the dragon is. He doesn’t hear anything.

Arthur decides to go back outside. He must have missed something. The dragon must still be out there, and it’s only a matter of time before he finds it. He goes to where he remembers seeing the last of the drops of blood.

It’s too dark for him to be able to see much besides the blood glinting morbidly in the moonlight, so he considers himself very lucky when he spots a footprint in the mud not a meter away. In the limited light, he can’t see any others, but just that one is enough to point him in the direction of the dragon.

He finds it in a small clearing. It’s lying down on the soft grass, nudging its head towards its injury, likely trying to judge its severity. From where Arthur stands, the blow looks in no way fatal — it does, however, look to be enough to prevent the dragon from ever flying again.

It looks up when Arthur stalks into the clearing, sword raised in front of him and ready to deal the beast a final blow. The dragon lurches to its feet and backs away from him, hissing and keeping its injured wing close to its body, but it doesn’t move to attack.

Arthur, on the other hand, has no qualms about going on the offensive. He nears the creature quickly, keeping a careful eye on its movements. It’s moving farther away, keeping its head low and its golden eyes fixed on Arthur, likely trying to judge what he’s going to do next.

Arthur wastes no more time. He lets his fury towards the dragon consume him, allows it to lend him strength, and within a second he’s rushing right at it, sword raised high.

The dragon is late in reacting — probably a byproduct of the pain it’s in. It rears back on its hind paws to try to get away from the sword, but Arthur’s blow to its breast still draws a fair amount of blood.

Arthur readies his sword again to deal the mortal blow, to finally get his revenge on the beast that took everything from him, but out of nowhere comes the sound of glass breaking and a flash of bright light, and Arthur is pushed back by an unseen force.

When the light finally disperses, the dragon is gone. In its place is a human body — one Arthur knows all too well.

In front of him lies Merlin.

~oOo~

_ Fires were raging all around him. The acrid smoke burned his lungs and made his eyes tear up. Around him were the bodies of the dead and the dying. Behind him, somewhere, was Arthur. Arthur, and whatever was left of Camelot’s army. _

_ They were losing. _

_ Morgana was going to win. _

_ Merlin jerked out of the way when an arrow zoomed right past his head, and ducked when someone swiped at him with a sword. _

_ He didn’t have time for this. He needed to get to Arthur and protect him, because Arthur wouldn’t stand a chance against Morgana if she found him. There was only so much a sword, even one forged in a dragon’s breath, could do against magic of Morgana’s caliber. For all his skill at fighting, Arthur would need a tremendous amount of luck to even make it close enough to Morgana to use a sword. _

_ He wouldn’t be able to do anything without Merlin’s help. _

_ Not for the first time, Merlin cursed himself for allowing the two of them to get separated. ‘Stay away from the fight, Merlin’, ‘Go help Gaius and Gwen, Merlin’. Arthur had been so adamant about Merlin staying at the safest place he could find. _

_ Actually, no — he cursed Arthur for making him leave his side, especially now that it had become clear how hard it would be to find him again. _

_ Merlin quickly checked to make sure that none of Camelot’s Knights were around — that Arthur wasn’t around, before letting a blast of magic loose on_ _his attackers. The archer went flying and hit his head against a building, and the swordsman tumbled right into a fire. Neither of them got up again. _

_ Merlin turned on his heel and broke into a run. He needed to get back to the Citadel. It’s where Arthur was certain to be, and it’s where Morgana would be headed. _

_ He didn’t come across anyone else as he ran through the Lower Town. It wasn’t until he was nearing the Citadel’s courtyard that he finally saw signs of the ongoing battle. He darted past the enemy soldiers and stuck close to the walls, tripping up people whenever he could and keeping a careful lookout for Arthur. _

_ Arthur was in the middle of the courtyard, facing off against three enemies at once. It immediately became clear to Merlin that he was losing. He was covered with grime and blood, and was visibly injured. It didn’t escape Merlin’s notice that he was favouring his right leg or that he was keeping his left hand close to his chest or how there was a trickle of blood slowly making its way down his temple. _

_ Arthur was losing. And if Arthur lost, they all would, for there could be no Camelot without Arthur. _

_ Merlin could hear blood pounding in his ears. The ice in his veins brought with it a feeling of clarity, of absolute calmness. _

_It was like the calm before a storm. _

_ He knew what he had to do. He knew that he couldn’t let Arthur die — that he’d let himself die before any harm could come to Arthur. _

_ When he saw how close Arthur came to being stabbed by a sword, he let his magic flow through his veins, let it consume him and change him. Merlin felt his spine elongate and his limbs get thicker. He felt something grow from his back, and he felt his teeth sharpen to fine points. _

_ He let his body change into that of a dragon. _

_ All sounds of battle ceased. It was quiet enough that one could hear the sound of their own breathing. Both Camelot’s Knights and Morgana’s men backed away in fear of the beast standing before them. _

_ Arthur was the only one who refused to cower. He stood tall, looking right at Merlin. _

_ That single moment of quiet was when Merlin chose to attack. _

_ He rushed forward, right past a group of Camelot’s Knights, and into the middle of the courtyard. He swiped his claws and snapped his jaws at anyone who came near him, making an effort not to hurt any of Arthur’s men too badly, and it was only once he was sure that the people surrounding him were no friends of his that he allowed himself to breath fire and incinerate them where they stood. _

_ They screamed as they died. _

_ Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin could see Arthur and a few of his Knights converging on his location. He bent his head to look down at them menacingly, hoping to scare them off. He wasn’t at all surprised to see that it didn’t work — Arthur’s Knights were too well-trained to be scared off so easily. _

_ Arthur was in the front, and he was looking straight at Merlin. For a moment, Merlin wondered what he looked like to him, but the thought fled as quickly as it had come. He didn’t have time for this. He needed the Knights to leave, to go and fight and protect Camelot from the actual enemies. _

_ Now that he’d annihilated over half the enemy soldiers, he needed to change back somewhere where Arthur wouldn’t see him. _

_That was, of course, the moment Morgana finally decided to show up. She stood in the middle of the courtyard, right behind Arthur’s group of Knights as though she’d always been there. Perhaps she had. Perhaps they had all been too busy fighting to notice her. _

_ She was looking at Merlin with so much awe that, for a second, he could have mistaken her for the kind-hearted Morgana he used to know. And then, her magic swept through the air, winding towards him and around him, and it reeked. It was so full of death and destruction and just overall darkness that Merlin reared away from it, as far away as he could because he didn’t want it anywhere near him, contaminating him and his own magic. _

_ The moment her magic had touched Merlin, Morgana’s expression had changed drastically. No longer could he see even a single speck of awe it had previously held. The only emotions to be found were disbelief, a slow dawning of understanding, and absolute hatred the likes of which he’d ever seen before. _

_ She knew. Her magic had sensed him. _

_ It had happened in a split second, and it took another for Morgana to cast the spell, one so dark and unforgiving. Merlin felt his skin and his scales constrict harshly, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Heart pounding in his chest, he tried to gently prod at the strings of magic keeping his dragon form together, only to draw back as though he’d been burned. He felt his consciousness being pushed back, and then, all of a sudden, he was no longer a warlock who had transformed into a dragon — he _ was _a dragon. _

_ Morgana had rendered him incapable of transforming back. _

_ His blood ran cold at the thought. It couldn’t be — it was impossible. Morgana’s magic was weaker than his own. It shouldn’t have been allowed to have such an effect on him. He should have been able to fight back, to fight it off. _

_ That in mind, Merlin tried to reach for his own magic, only to find that it, too, had been blocked off. _

_ He was trapped. _

_ Through the panic that had overcome him, Merlin hardly realised that Arthur had by now noticed Morgana’s presence and had backed away from the both of them, leaving them staring at one another. _

_ Then, time sped up. He was a dimly aware of Arthur and Morgana talking, but he couldn’t understand anything. He didn’t know if that was because of Morgana’s curse or his own state of near-panic, but it only served to make him more agitated. _

_ People were converging on him once again, but Merlin ignored them. There wasn’t much they’d be able to do against him, not with how little they knew of dragon anatomy. They would have to be incredibly lucky to be able to hurt him badly. _

_ At least, that’s what he hoped. _

_ Merlin let himself focus on only one thing — Morgana. He bared his teeth in a snarl and lunged towards her. He was upon her in a second, jaws open, and ready to breathe down fire, but then someone got in his way. _

_ He looked down to see Arthur, and his jaws snapped shut. Merlin took a few steps back lest Arthur get any ideas about attacking him instead of Morgana, and launched himself into the air to get away from the other soldiers. _

_ Arthur was standing in front of Morgana, sword raised and ready to attack. Morgana, on the other hand was laughing. _

_ Arthur’s steadfast calmness turned into wariness, and he regarded Morgana with no small amount of suspicion. It was one thing to hear about her madness, to see its effects, but quite another to witness it firsthand. _

_ “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Arthur said. _

_ “Oh, nothing much. It’s just, there’s something tragic about seeing a loved one die and not realising it, don’t you think,” Morgana replied amidst fits of laughter. _

_ “...What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, but his eyes were no longer on Morgana. They wandered the courtyard, gaze drifting from one dead body to another. _

_ Until they finally landed on the torn remains of Merlin’s clothes right where the dragon had first appeared. _

_ Merlin saw Arthur’s shoulders slump and his sword drift lower. He forced himself to look away from Arthur’s face — he didn’t want to see the grief, the all-consuming agony that loss never failed to bring, and he didn’t want to see the anger. _

_ He wanted Morgana to stop talking. He wanted to dive down, to kill her, but he couldn’t because Arthur was standing too close and he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he hurt him. He didn’t know how to get Arthur away from her and to safety. He didn’t want Arthur anywhere near Morgana’s filthy, _ filthy _magic and her mind games and manipulation. _

_ Arthur turned away from Morgana, turning to face him fully. His sword was once again raised high and he seemed ready to attack, no matter that Merlin was far out of his reach. _

_ It was a mistake — something that was clear to Merlin the moment it happened. Arthur had left his entire back open, and Morgana was standing right behind him. In no time at all, she grabbed a dagger from her belt and lunged forward, aiming to sever Arthur’s spine. _

_ Merlin couldn’t let that happen. He dived down and to the left, evading Arthur to the best of his ability (and barely holding back a wince as he clipped him with his wing) and headed straight for Morgana. His maw fell open and he shot a pillar of fire in her direction, forcing her to move back to avoid it. She wasn’t quick enough, however, and he heard her scream in agony as the flames burrowed deep into her skin. _

_ “Fire!” Arthur shouted from somewhere behind him. Merlin’s first thought was to laugh, because why did Arthur always have to state the obvious? Of course there was fire — he was a bloody dragon. The laughter died in his throat when he realised what else that word could mean. Fire. He was ordering the archers to aim their bows at Merlin. _

_ He didn’t want to think about how much damage an arrow could do if it cut through a wing. He wouldn’t be able to fly and get away, and he’d be dead the moment Arthur attacked him (which he would), because it was physically impossible for Merlin to hurt him, even in an act of self-defence. _

_ So he flew, right past Morgana, still screaming in agony, eyes flashing a molten orange-gold as she tried to heal her injuries. He left behind Arthur and Morgana, evading the archers’ arrows as he flew high up into the clouds, hoping that nobody would be able to see where he was going and track him later on. _

_ Morgana was terribly, if not fatally, injured, and her army was down to a few dozen men at most. Arthur’s, in turn, had not suffered many losses. Then, there was also the fact that Arthur had Excalibur. Arthur would be fine. One wasn’t called the strongest among the Knights with nothing to show for it, after all. _

_ He’d be fine as long as he didn’t do anything stupid. _

_ Merlin would figure out a way to break Morgana’s curse and turn back, and then he’d return to Camelot. He was Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist. He could do it, if no-one else could. _

_There was a voice in his head telling him that it wouldn’t be that simple — that things never were where Morgana was concerned. _

_ Merlin tried to ignore it. _

~oOo~

If he’s honest with himself, the last thing Merlin expects to happen is for him to awaken. He didn’t think he’d get away from Arthur and his Knights, not unless he killed them all, and damn it he’d put too much work into protecting them to do that.

Another thing he didn’t expect was to wake up with Arthur sitting next to him, gently running his fingers through Merlin’s hair and looking close to tears.

Merlin tries to raise his hand to touch Arthur’s face, to prove to himself that this is real — that he’s no longer got the body of a dragon but is himself once again. He stops and inhales sharply when the action brings with it a shooting pain.

Arthur is instantly putting his hands on Merlin’s good shoulder, telling him to stay down, that he’s hurt and he shouldn’t be moving around, and _oh gods_ he’d really thought he’d never hear Arthur’s voice again. It brings with it an overwhelming wave of relief, and Merlin exhales slowly.

“I almost killed you,” Arthur whispers, still turned toward Merlin but not quite meeting his eyes. Merlin is able to resist the urge to get up and pull him into a hug (or into a kiss or anything really — he’d be happy with any contact right about now) but it’s a near thing. Instead, he reaches out with his good hand and puts in on Arthur’s knee, wincing when it causes the cut on his chest to flare up in pain.

“But you didn’t,” Merlin answers. His voice sounds weird to him after so long — too rough and too deep and not at all like what he remembers.

Maybe not just to him. The sound of his voice makes Arthur’s eyes dart up to meet Merlin’s own, and _oh, how he’s missed that shade of blue_.

“I almost did. I almost killed you. _Oh, gods_ , I almost _killed_ you,” Arthur says, his hand stopping its movements through Merlin’s hair, and instead travelling upwards to wind in Arthur’s own. He turns away from Merlin, but not before Merlin sees a tear fall to the grass beneath them.

“You didn’t know,” Merlin replies, tightening his grip on Arthur’s knee. “It’s alright.”

“I should’ve—” Arthur starts, but Merlin interrupts him

“You couldn’t have known.” His voice is firm — or, as firm as it can be considering he’s injured and in pain and his throat feels as if it’s burning up whenever he tries to swallow. “Besides,” he adds, gentling his tone, “You patched me up. I’m fine.”

“Not if we don’t get you to a physician in time! What if you get an infection before we get back to Camelot? Or your wounds reopen and you bleed out on the way there? Damn it, Merlin — you’re not fine!” Arthur says, voice rising with each word until he’s almost shouting. Merlin flinches back at the noise, his ears still as sensitive as they were in his dragon form. 

Arthur is leaning over him instantly, apologising and still looking like he’s trying to hold back tears. Merlin softly shakes his head to show that it’s alright. Now that Arthur’s closer, he tries to reach out for him again, smiling weakly at Arthur’s lack of protest when Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s, interlacing their fingers.

“How’s Camelot been?” he asks, trying to change the topic. Arthur gives him a look that he suggests he knows what Merlin is trying to do, but allows him to do it anyway. He shrugs jerkily.

“Peaceful,” Arthur says. “Boring,” he adds after a few seconds, looking down at Merlin. The ‘without you’ goes unsaid, but they both know it’s there, hanging between them. “Morgana’s locked away.”

“Is she?” Merlin asks, muscles tensing. He wants to ask why she isn’t dead, but it doesn’t feel like the right thing to say. “I take it she won’t be able to escape anytime soon?”

Arthur shakes his head, smiling weakly.

“Not from where I’ve put her, and not with how injured she is,” he explains. The words bring with them a large amount of relief and a not-so-small amount of grim and sadistic satisfaction.

“Good,” he says curtly. He weakly squeezes Arthur’s hand when the silence between them starts to get uncomfortable.

“You have magic,” Arthur says all of a sudden, looking just as surprised as Merlin is at the words. Merlin tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

_Arthur knows_ , he thinks in a panic. Merlin tries to pull his hand back, but he just barely manages to unwind their fingers before Arthur’s grip grows tighter.

Merlin lets his eyes fall to their hands, feeling more comfortable looking at them than at the betrayed expression on Arthur’s face.

“Yes,” he whispers, voice small and just barely audible. When Arthur doesn’t say anything for the longest time, Merlin tries to free his hand again, to curl it into his chest protectively, but Arthur doesn’t let go.

Merlin isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good sign.

“How long have you had it?” Arthur asks. His voice doesn’t sound cold, but it’s nowhere near as comforting as it was a few minutes ago. It makes Merlin flinch away and curl in on himself protectively, despite how it aggravates his injuries.

“Since I was born,” he answers. His hands feel cold, and he knows that it’s not the chill in the air that’s causing it. He’s scared.

No, not scared — he’s terrified of what Arthur will do now. He doesn’t think that Arthur will hurt him, but he can’t be certain. After everything that he’s suffered because of magic, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if this revelation completely destroyed their relationship.

Despite this, he’s glad that he got these few minutes with Arthur. At least this time, he’ll be able to say goodbye.

“Is that how you transformed into the dragon?” Arthur asks, his grip on Merlin’s hand tightening to the point where Merlin could swear he hears his bones creak.

“Yes,” he replies tersely. Words are trying to force their way from his throat, but Merlin doesn’t let them, too afraid that he’ll say something Arthur doesn’t want to hear.

“Why?” Arthur asks, trying to get Merlin to meet his gaze.

“Because we were losing. We were outnumbered and going to lose and you were going to—” he cuts himself off, unable to finish that sentence.

“I was going to die,” Arthur finishes for him. Merlin nods, trying his best not to think about the battlefield and the desperation he felt, and how he’d been willing to do anything to make sure Arthur lived to see another sunrise.

“I couldn’t let that happen,” Merlin adds. Arthur’s free hand moves to his cheek and tilts his head up.

“I thought that thing had killed you. I thought—” Arthur grits his teeth. “Why didn’t you turn back, afterwards?” he asks. “No-one would have hurt you. I wouldn’t have let any of them hurt you! Why did you never come back?!” Arthur is shouting again, his words full of accusation and pain that has been ignored for far too long.

“Don’t you think I wanted to?! I tried everything I could to change back — everything! But Morgana cursed me and I couldn’t break free,” Merlin replies, his voice barely audible towards the end. He hated being reminded of his own failure — of how he had been unable to do anything against Morgana’s magic, despite supposedly being so much more powerful. He hated being reminded of how he’d been trapped in the body of a dragon for months, forced to live a life without Arthur, and sometimes wondering whether it wouldn’t just be easier to give up and fade away. “And then Morgana told you that I was dead and that the dragon had killed me in front of your very eyes, and I didn’t dare come anywhere near you.”

Arthur had come after him instead. Merlin remembers how his heart had pounded in his chest when he’d first seen him, how surprise and joy had quickly turned into fear when it had become apparent that Arthur wanted him dead, and how hard it had been to get away without hurting anyone too much.

“I should never have believed Morgana,” Arthur says after a long silence following Merlin’s outburst. “I should have known she was lying.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Merlin says, but his voice is grim. He’s tired. His injuries are throbbing, there’s an unpleasant pulsing in his temples, and he just wants this conversation to end so that he can go to sleep, safe in the knowledge that Arthur is by his side and he’s not alone anymore.

Provided, of course, that Arthur doesn’t leave him now that he knows of Merlin’s magic.

“But then… now? How are you… _you_?” Arthur asks, confused.

“I think Excalibur might have unwoven the curse enough to let me break through,” Merlin mumbles. “I guess I have you to thank for that.”

His eyes keep closing no matter how much he tries to keep them open. His eyelids seem incredibly heavy and his thoughts are becoming sluggish. He tries to turn onto his side out of force of habit, but ends up whimpering when it brings forth a wave of pain.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks. His voice sounds like it’s coming from across a field — distant and quiet.

“Tired,” Merlin replies as his mind resurfaces. “Let me rest.” He hears Arthur sigh and ignores the shade of worry he can detect in his next words.

“Alright,” Arthur says. Merlin feels Arthur’s arms sliding beneath his prone, aching body, and the next thing he knows, he’s stifling whimpers of pain as he’s being lifted up and cradled against Arthur’s chest, clad in nothing except Arthur’s blood-red cloak. “Rest. I’ll get you home.”

“Mhm,” Merlin agrees, feeling the tension leave his muscles once he realises that Arthur isn’t going to leave him.

“Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought I’d lost you.” Merlin thinks he isn’t supposed to hear the last part, but the words refuse to leave his head now.

“Never,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Arthur replies as he takes the first steps down that road that will lead them to Camelot.

They're going home.


End file.
